


Color

by zoegrover



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-03-17 22:27:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13668594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoegrover/pseuds/zoegrover
Summary: I've seen this done a few times, and this is my take on the soulmate AU.Phillip Carlyle has spent his whole life believing he would never see color and would spend his whole life alone, but when, on a whim, he decides to go with P. T. Barnum to his circus, he meets his soulmate in a place he never expected.





	1. Chapter 1

Blood Red. Forest Green. Midnight Blue. Blinding Yellow. To Phillip, those words were exactly that, just words. Words that he filled his plays with, words that his mother used to describe the dresses of the girls she tried to match him with. You saw the world in black and white until you were luck enough to lock eyes with your soul mate. For the upper class, seeing color was very rare. Every time they left their sheltered little community, they shielded their eyes just in case their soul mate happened to be beneath them. Only if your soul mate happened to run in the same circles as you, did your world finally come alive.

 

There was another reason they covered their eyes. To know who your soul mate was and not marry them doomed you to a deep depression for the rest of your days. Phillip knew that first hand. His mother saw color, but his father didn’t. She had made eye contact with a man who worked in her parent’s house, and both of their worlds had exploded. When her parents found out, they immediately betrothed her to the young Mr. Louis Carlyle, and like the good and dutiful daughter she had been raised to be, she married him, damming herself to a life of misery. When Phillip was born, she vowed to make sure that he never made eye contact with anyone unsuitable, so that she could ensure that her sweet little boy, who was so full of life, wasn’t doomed to one filled with misery.

 

Phillip grew up hearing stories of what it felt like to lock eyes with your soul mate from his nurse. How, suddenly, the world became a vibrant place, better than you could ever imagine, and how, when you and your soul mate touched, you felt a warmth that was akin to standing in front of a fireplace. When he was ten years old, he came bounding into the dinning room to have dinner with his parents, and he told them how wonderful it was going to be when he met his soul mate. His father had quickly crushed that dream, telling him that if none of the girls in their circle were his soul mate, he would never see color, never experience that wonderful feeling. After dinner, Phillip had escaped to his room and cried for hours. Before he could nod off to sleep, his mother had crept into his room and told him what that feeling was like, but had warned him of the immense pain and sorrow it could bring. The next day, his nurse was gone, and Phillip vowed to never go searching for color and resigned to a life of never seeing how wonderful the world could really be.

 

Living a life without seeing color also meant a life of pain as well. It wasn’t the deep constant sadness and constant depression brought on by knowing whom your soul mate was and not being with them, but it hurt nonetheless. This pain was an ache. It started out as a small throb in the center of your chest, and it grew until it felt like your heart would burst. It wouldn’t last more than a few hours, but they were agony for whomever it was happening to. The pain appeared at different times for different people. For some it appeared when they saw a couple that was happily married, and for other it appeared whenever they were the loneliest. For Phillip, it always appeared towards the end of the night, after one of his plays. After the cast and audience had gone home, and he was standing alone in the empty theater, the ache set in. Like most, he had his own ways of dealing with it. His father lashed out at his wife and son, as if attempting to make them hurt as much as he did. Some tried to forget their pain in the arms of another. Phillip drank. He always had a hip flask with him incase the pain began before the last of the audience had gone home. Every night after the show, he tried to drown the pain in glass after glass of whiskey. Once he could barley see straight, he stumbled home to his apartment and collapsed on his bed, the one that always felt way too empty.

 

By the time Mr. Barnum approached him about joining the circus, the ache had already set in. He had done his best to send the man on his way so he could drown his miseries, but the man was insistent. When the man offered to buy him a drink, he agreed. Even if the man really was sprouting nonsense, at least he would get to dull the pain. Once at the bar, Mr. Barnum began describing the bright, colorful circus. Every time the man said a color, a sharp jolt of pain went though Phillips chest. That fact did not go unnoticed by Mr. Barnum.

“You can’t see color yet,” he said.

Phillip merely nodded as he tossed back his shot of whiskey.

“I was lucky,” Mr. Barnum, continued, “I met my soul mate when I was just a boy.”

“Good for you,” Phillip murmured sarcastically.

“You’ll find her,” Mr. Barnum said comfortingly, “who knows, maybe you’ll find her at the circus.”

 

Many glasses and many hours later, Phillip found himself walking towards the Barnum Museum. He followed Mr. Barnum up a long staircase to the second level and stood on a platform over looking the ring. Two people were soaring in the air high above the ground, doing flips and tricks that made Phillip’s stomach clench. One of them hooked her legs on a bar and dropped, heading for the ground. Her momentum pushed her forwards, and she began flying up towards them, creating a perfect arch. She stopped at the top for a few moments, but it was long enough for her to make eye contact with Phillip. Before he had time to react, she was gone.

“Who’s that?”

And then his world exploded.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Anne Wheeler sat stiffly in her chair, her hand enclosed in her brother’s, looking across the table at P.T. Barnum. Despite the fear that had taken root, she had allowed W.D. to drag her to a meeting with Mr. Barnum about being in his show. He had hired them on the spot, even when W.D. had voiced his concerns about the crowd not liking them on stage. Now, the two men were engaged in an animated conversation about the show itself, the other acts, and the costumes the two would wear. The familiar ache in her chest had set in almost as soon as they had sat down, and every time they mentioned the bubblegum pink of the wig she was going to wear, the vibrant purple of their costumes, and the cherry red that was going to cover the entire theater, it felt like someone was stabbing her in the heart. She managed to keep her mask in place but a particularly bad jolt of pain made her squeeze W.D.’s hand and audibly wince. The two men exchanged knowing glances, and after a goodbye and a promise to meet up again later, W.D. took her back to their apartment with Anne leaning heavily on him the whole way.

 

W.D. was one of the lucky ones. He met his soul mate when he was ten, and his soul mate was one of the pretty girls that had moved in just down the hall from them, someone society would want him to marry. Their mother had burst into happy tears when he had told them, but Anne had forced a smile and quickly disappeared into the room she shared with her mother. It didn’t seem fair to her. She had stared into the eyes of every man that lived in their neighborhood and nothing, not even a flash. That night, when her mother slipped into bed, she had stroked her hair and told that she was only eight; she had more time. Anne knew that wasn’t exactly true. The ache set in on your thirteenth birthday. It was mild, just a sharp clench, but as the years passed it became more and more painful. Her mother had told her that when she met her soul mate it would be the happiest day of her life, but Anne knew she was lying. Her mother was a special case. She was two people’s soul mate. Anne’s skin was much lighter than her brother’s for that reason. W.D.’s father had taken one look at their mother and the world had opened up for him, but she didn’t see anything. Believing it was just a fluke, she married him and had W.D.. When he was a year old, she stumbled and fell while shopping. Someone caught her, and when she looked up to thank him, colors flooded in. He saw them too. However, the two of them could never be together. She was already married, but more importantly, he was white. The pair arranged a secret meeting, and nine months later Anne was born. Her mother never saw him again after that night, and she struggled with depression for the rest of her life.

 

Once Anne and W.D. were home, Anne fell into bed and tried to block out the pain. Normally, when she felt an attack coming on, she would drop everything and run to the trapeze. She would practice, and practice, and practice, until the pain of her aching muscles matched that of her aching heart. On the rare occasions where she didn’t make it there in time like today, she would curl up in bed and wait for the waves of pain to slowly subside. Anne had become proficient at knowing when an attack was coming on. Anytime anyone mentioned color or if she read something about it, the familiar ache would take root. The worst however, was when she saw W.D. and his soul mate together. Those times, it didn’t start out small. It crashed over her, like a wave during a storm, pulling her under, drowning her. Thankfully, the two of them weren’t oblivious, and made sure to keep their contact to a minimum around her.

 

At the circus, Anne found that the majority of them had never met their soul mates. Everyone avoided eye contact with them because no one wanted to be soul mates with a freak. Everyone had their own way of dealing. Lettie sang until her vocal cords felt like they were going to rip, and Tom locked himself way from everyone else. The majority threw themselves into perfecting their routines. Barnum thankfully was sympathetic, letting those who needed it take breaks during practice or nights off from shows. After a particularly bad attack, Barnum had insisted she take the night off, despite her protesting until the curtain came up. As she sat in the office, watching the show from above, she remembered what her mother had told her about soul mates. Her mother actively encouraged her to seek out her soul mate with one rule. Don’t ever look in the eyes of a white man. No matter his wealth, station, or job, never, ever look into his eyes. Her mother had not hid the truth of who her father was from her. She used her own mistakes to scare Anne into not making them. Anne had been warned that they’ll either use you and leave you, or they would be so disgusted they would run the other way. One night, when she was fifteen, during her worst attack yet, she had told her mother that she wouldn’t care if she were miserable; she just wanted the pain to go away. Her mother had smiled sadly at her and told her that the misery was worse. Her mother had lived with pain for thirty years, but to her, the sadness, the loneliness was much worse. Your soul mate haunted your dreams, you compared every man you ever saw to them, and you felt completely and utterly hopeless. Anne didn’t say anything about soul mates to her after that.

 

Anne really didn’t want to go onstage that night. The ache had set in a few hours before the show started, and she was already exhausted from trying to keep it at bay. Mr. Barnum had smiled kindly at her, but told her no, everyone needed to be on tonight; a special guest was coming. She grabbed one of the ropes and waited to be pulled up when W.D. came and stood next to her.

“Are you okay?”

“No, but I’ll be fine.”

Before he could say anything, she was pulled up into the air. A few minuets later W.D. joined her, and they preformed stunts that made the audience gasp in horror and laugh in delight. Anne tried to lose herself in the familiarity of the routine. She hooked her legs around a bar and began flying towards the balcony where Mr. Barnum and his mystery guest were. The ache in her chest was getting stronger by the minute. She flew up, up, up, and then the world stopped. As soon as she made eye contact with the stranger, the ache in her chest vanished. She barley had time to register what had happened before she was yanked away.

And then her world exploded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... what did you think? Let me know if you find any mistakes!


	3. Chapter 3

It took a few moments for him to process what had just happened. He, Phillip Carlyle, the man who was destined to be forever alone, had just made eye contact with his soulmate. Not only that, but a soulmate that everyone, his parents, society, and even the state of New York, said he couldn’t have. He should have been much more upset about this than he was. He should have wanted run straight out of the theater, home, far, far away from this girl. Something however, made him stay. Maybe it was his curiosity, or maybe it was that this girl, the most beautiful one he had ever seen, had something about her that made him not care about the consequences. Most likely, it was that the moment they locked eyes, the searing ache in his chest was gone. Muscles that he didn’t even realize were tense, relaxed. His mind suddenly became clear, and all he could think about was that he needed to talk with this girl. Now.

 

Phillip Carlyle’s hands shook as he followed P.T. Barnum back down to the lower floors. He felt like he was seeing the world for the first time, which as he thought about it, he kind of was. His eyes were overwhelmed with the barrage of bright colors that decorated the rooms, and he almost fell down the stairs when he caught sight of the performers waiting backstage in their intricate and brightly colored costumes. P.T. thankfully didn’t seem to notice a change and cheerfully pointed out many of the other performers. At the base of the stairs he stopped suddenly, making Phillip come inches away from slamming into his back.

 

Finally, Phillip could put a name to the face that had changed his life, for better or worse. Anne Wheeler. Every single part of his body screamed at him to kiss her, or at the very least at least shake her hand. Something, however, made him fight those urges. Her. She stood there aloof, hands on her hips, looking at him like he was something that had crawled out from the trash. He couldn’t help but shrink under her appraising gaze. He stammered out some response when she asked him what his act was and almost melted to the ground when she smirked at him. The tips of her fingers grazed his ever so slightly as she brushed past him, and it made his breath catch in his throat. He watched her as she rushed back to her dressing room, as if she couldn’t get away from him fast enough. He didn’t look away until she was out of sight, and when he finally did turn around, he was face to face with her older brother. His arms were crossed, and his eyes sent a clear message- you hurt my sister, I hurt you.

 

…

 

Later that night, Phillip lay in his bed staring at the celling. He rolled over and glanced at the clock on his side table and groaned loudly upon seeing that is was two in the morning. He had been tossing and turning for hours, sleeping for no more than fifteen minutes before snapping awake again. He sat up and swung his feet on to the floor and headed to the kitchen. If he couldn’t sleep, he could at least get some work done.

 

His apartment was small, at least for the amount of money he had. Consisting of a small living area, kitchen which doubled as a dining room, a bathroom, and his small bedroom. His parents had been appalled at the size of the place, but quickly gave up on persuading him to move back into the mansion he had grown up in. Though his mother had conceded on the size of the place, she took over the decorations. She had decorated the apartment with soft greys, dark blues, and stark white, not that he had actually been able to appreciate until now. The sofa and chairs were made with the softest fabric money could buy, the kitchen and bathroom were covered in marble, and the table and chairs in the kitchen were made out of smooth wood that almost felt soft to the touch.

 

Phillip slumped down into one of those chairs, flicked on a lamp, and reached for the folder of financial papers that P.T. had practically shoved into his hands before the ink was even dry on the contract they had signed. Phillip had glanced at them on the ride home, and it was clear that they were a total mess. He grabbed a pen, a blank sheet of paper, and started organizing the mess that was the circus’ financials. Well, he tried to, but his thoughts kept drifting back to what was keeping him from sleeping in the first place. Anne.

 

He couldn’t get her to leave his mind when he was awake, and during the brief moments he was asleep, his dreams were filled with her. He fantasied about them kissing, about touching her. He dreamt about watching her preforms jaw-dropping stunts. He saw them getting married, having children that were the perfect mix of the two of them. The worst dream, one he had numerous times, was when he woke up next to her. In his dreams, he would bury his face in her hair, nuzzling her neck, and planting soft kisses along the curve of her jaw until she would wake up. She would smile up at him and lean in for a kiss. Right before their lips met, he would jolt awake, his arms searching for the warm body that he expected to be there, and his arms would ache when he didn’t find her.

 

He, in all honesty, should have expected this to happen. His mother had told him that all your thoughts were consumed with your soul mate once you met them. When he was thirteen and still fantasizing about finding his soul mate, she had taken him aside and told him that all of her thoughts were filled with her soul mate, and every night she would dream about the life they could have had, the children that could have been born, and the joy that they could have shared. She warned him that at first the dreams started out as just that, dreams, but as time went on they became more and more realistic, preying on your deepest desires and fears. His mother dreamt about her soulmate dying, about being ripped out of his arms, and worst of all about him rejecting her. Phillip would awaken in the middle of the night and hear his mother’s gasping sobs as she cried out for the man that would never comfort her.

 

Phillip raked his fingers through his hair and tried, once again, to figure out what to do next. Anne had seemed uninterested when they met, almost as if she didn’t feel anything. Phillip’s heart stopped momentarily. Was it possible that she wasn’t his soulmate? He had heard stories of that happening but had always believed that they were just rumors and tall tales made to scare children. He shook his head fiercely as if to shake out those thoughts. That couldn’t be possible. He had seen a flash of something in her eyes when they were introduced. A flash of longing, love, and fear that quickly disappeared when her walls slammed shut. The way her hands shook ever so slightly before she anchored them onto her hips, and the way her voice quavered ever so slightly when she first spoke, told him that she had seen the colors too.

Phillip turned his head to stare out the window at the twinkling lights that dotted the city. He had no one to turn to for advice. His father probably betroth him to someone else in their social circle within hours to prevent any scandal, and his mother would just look at him with her eyes full of tears and tell him to just go along with whatever his father said. His friends would tell him to sleep with her a few times and then keep her around as his mistress once he got married which was the common practice among men in their circle if their soulmate wasn’t up to their standards.

 

“Anne,” he said softly to himself, “I hope that wherever you are in this city, that you have a better support system than me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, for the long wait in between chapters! I haven't been in the right headspace recently for writing. This piece is unbetaed, so please let me know if there are any mistakes! Let me know what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

When color flooded into her vision, Anne froze. It was too bright, too much. Her head felt like it was full of cotton, and she couldn’t get a coherent thought to form. Her legs went slack and her hands began to shake violently. She was barely able to grab hold of W.D.’s hands as he swung past her, ready to do the final trick in their routine. The rest of the routine flew by. It was only because of her muscle memory that she was able to complete it without plummeting to the ground. The only thoughts in her head was of his blue eyes. They were the most brilliant blue she had ever seen and seemed to bore into her very soul.

 

The moment she touched the ground her knees gave out from under her, and she tumbled to the ground, thankfully out of sight from the audience and the other performers. Her head spun, and she lay down on her back in an attempt to make the room stop spinning. That’s when it really sank in. She met him. She met her soulmate. She should have been thrilled. She should have been jumping for joy, but old memories tinged her happiness with overwhelming sadness. She couldn’t help but latch on to what her mother had said to her right before she died.

“He won’t love you Anne,” her mother had warned, “he’ll stay with you for a few nights at most and then leave you for some fair-skinned woman that the world says he can love. You cannot trust a white man.”

Anne’s heart ached when she remembered her mother’s words, and something in her made her want to jump up and scream that it wasn’t true, that this man would never use her like that. Before her mind could travel any further, a concerned voice shook her out of her dream-like state.

 

“Anne! Anne, are you okay?”

 

She opened her eyes to see her brother kneeling on the ground next to her. She groaned softly and sat up very slowly.

 

“Has the pain gotten worse?”

 

Those words made her stop. The pain that had been a constant presence in her life since the day she turned thirteen, was gone. She felt like an invisible weight that she had been carrying around was suddenly lifted. She wanted to get up and scream for joy, but her brother’s concerned face peering down at her stopped her in his tracks. How was she supposed to tell him? He had seen first-hand the pain their mother had gone through, and it would kill him to see her in the same pain. He would never understand. He would try of course, but his soulmate was someone that society wanted him to marry. Her soulmate was one she could never, ever be with. So she decided to do the only thing she could. Lie.

 

“I got a really bad wave during the swing. It seems to be going away now. I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

 

“Can you walk?”

 

“Of course, just help me up.”

 

She grabbed his hand and allowed him to pull her up. She followed him on shaky legs backstage, hoping to avoid the mysterious man P.T. had brought to the circus with him. However, luck was not on her side tonight. P.T. was leading a dazed looking young man down the stairs and immediately called them over when he caught sight of them. Her hands began shaking, and she slammed them down on her hips, hopefully before anyone noticed. The young man, whom P.T. had introduced to them as Phillip Carlyle, stared at her unabashedly. Every single fiber of her being screamed at her to launch herself into his arms, to run her fingers through his hair, and kiss him until they were both breathless. That was not what she did. She made some snarky comment about him having an act and stalked off towards her dressing room, hoping W.D. and P.T. would write it off as a particularly bad wave of pain.  As she passed Phillip, she brushed her finger tips against his. Gently enough that it would seem like an accident, but enough contact that she would be able to tell what it was like to touch him. Whatever she imagined it would feel like, it was nothing compared to what it actually did.

 

Her fingers at first began to tingle ever so softly, but soon that tingle turned into a warmth. A warmth that spread throughout her entire body from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She could feel a blush creeping into her cheeks and knees felt weak. Every molecule in her entire body screamed for more. It took every ounce of self-control in her entire body to not race out of the dressing room and into his arms. And judging by the sudden intake of breath she heard when their fingers touched, he felt the same thing. Anne groaned softly and rested her head on her vanity. She was so screwed.

 

…

 

Anne jerked awake, her heart pounding and covered in sweat. She flicked on her lamp that cast barely enough light to make her hand visible in front of her face and glanced at her clock. When she saw that it read three in the morning, she groaned loudly and shoved a pillow over her face. She had been dreaming about Phillip the whole night, waking up every twenty minutes or so. The last one she was jerked awake from, was a particularly explicit one, causing a blush to rise in her cheeks when she thought about it.

 

Anne stared at the celling, trying to calm her racing heart. This was only one example of the dreams that she had had that night. In her dreams, she envisioned them getting married, cooking together, exchanging soft kisses, and just being together. There was one dream that made her jerk awake sobbing. The dream always opened with her cooking and heavily pregnant. She would hear a lock click and the groan of rusty hinges. Phillip would come up behind her, placing his hands on her belly and burying his face in the crook of her neck. He would ask how she and their little girl was doing and a playful argument about the sex of their unborn child would ensue. He thought it was a girl, and she thought it was a boy. Eventually, she would turn away from the stove to face him, and dream Phillip would lower himself on his knees so his nose brushed against her stomach. He would chat with their unborn baby and would gently kiss her stomach. He would then rise up slowly, wipe away the tears that littered her cheeks, and kiss her ever so softly. Then Anne would wake up.

 

These dreams were torturous. They made her whole body scream out for the man she could never have and long for the future that could never be. Anne shoved a pillow over her face and screamed into it, taking care not to scream loud enough to wake W.D. and his wife in the apartment next door. Moments like this made Anne long her for her mother. Even if her mother wasn’t going to give her the advice she wanted, she would have at least gathered her into her arms and rocked her until all her tears had dried.

 

She needed to have a game plan. She was going to be seeing Phillip fairly often now that he worked for P.T., and that was very problematic for the two of them. Her mother and W.D. had told her that being in the same room, sometimes even the same building if the bond was particularly strong, as your soulmate made it almost impossible to focus if neither of you had acknowledged your bond. Her mother had also warned that being near your mate for a prolonged period of time without accepting the bond meant severe pain for both of you and potentially pain strong enough to make it impossible to walk, stand, or speak.

 

Anne normally spent time in-between rehearsals chatting with Lettie or the other girls in the circus, but that had to stop. The moment shows and rehearsals were over she had to bolt. The best way to prolong the inevitable conversation with Phillip was to spend as little time with him a possible, even if that meant being alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Let me know if there are any mistakes and please review!


	5. Chapter 5

For Phillip Carlyle, the next three weeks were pure torture. It took him a full week of working twenty-hour days to make sense of P.T.’s legal papers and to create a system that hopefully, hopefully P.T. wouldn’t make a mess of. As soon as that was finished, he became an errand boy and all around handy man. If P.T. needed to send a message to his wife, Phillip did it. If the animals needed to be fed, that was his job. And if practice equipment needed to be sorted and put away, Phillip did it.

 

In all actuality, those first two weeks weren’t the worst. Sure, he stared at documents and tried to decipher handwriting that looked like scribbles until his head ached and his eyes swam and during the second week he ran around the city until his legs felt like they were going to give out and his muscles ached so badly he could barely move, but every night, the few hours he did get to sleep, were dreamless. On top of that, he was so distracted during the day that while she did creep into his thoughts, he was able to lose himself in the volume of work P.T. threw at him. Of course, the situation with Ann couldn’t stay good for long. When the third week rolled around, everything went to hell.

 

It started off okay enough. P.T. had given him the weekend off, and Phillip had slept the whole time and only woke long enough to eat. Things didn’t start to go downhill until he actually got to the circus early Monday morning, long before any of the other performers arrived for rehearsals. P.T. lead him up the stairs to the second level where he ushered Phillip into his office.

 

“I want  you to work in here today,” P.T. said as he began rummaging around for something, “you’ll be able to focus more up here away from everyone else.”

 

“What do you want me to work on today,” he asked, slipping off his coat and sitting down.

 

“We need to attract a wider range of people to our shows. I want you to figure out a way to attract the upper class to our show.”

 

“P.T., I don’t know if that’s possible. They’re very old fashioned and won’t want to…”

 

“That’s why I want you to do this,” he said, interrupting him, “you produced plays that they loved. You know what they like. I know you can do this.”

 

P.T. left Phillip with a stack of all the newspaper reviews they had ever received, a sheet detailing what kind of people came to watch their shows, and what shows and events had appealed to the upper class in recent year. Phillip had tried to protest yet again as P.T. shrugged on his coat, but his concerns were dismissed and P.T. left claiming he had a business meeting to attend.

 

The morning went well enough. Phillip poured over the papers P.T. had left behind and made carefully detailed notes. Charity had stopped by with the girls around lunch time, and they had been a welcome reprieve. Caroline and Helen entertained him with stories about their school and Caroline’s ballet classes while he ate the lunch that Charity had been kind enough to bring him. They left eventually, leaving Phillip to try to work out this impossible puzzle that P.T. wanted him to solve. After hours of staring into space and writing down ideas and crossing them out, something else distracted him. At precisely four o’clock, movement outside one of the windows caught his eye. W.D. and Anne Wheeler had begun practicing for their show that night. Suddenly, all thoughts of work went out of his head, and all he could think about was Anne. All he wanted to do was leave this office and be with her. As he resisted the temptation, the familiar ache in his chest began to set in, and by the way her muscles tensed up, she felt it to. As more time went on, the ache became more and more powerful, and by the time the nightly show was over, he could barely walk.

 

For the next few days, this became the routine. He would arrive when the sun barely peeking up over the horizon, he would work until noon when Charity and the girls would show up, he would work again until four when practice began and the pain came back. The pain got worse and worse every day- starting earlier, ending later, and slowly getting more intense. On Saturday night, after the final show, the routine broke.

 

…

 

Over the next two weeks, Anne stuck to her plan. She arrived at rehearsals and performances with seconds to spare, left the minute her feet touched the ground, and overall avoided Phillip. She got some strange looks from the others, but she brushed off their concern by saying that it was just really bad pain and she just needed sleep.

 

During the time she was up in the air, she pushed herself to the absolute max. She worked until her routines were either flawless or W.D. made her stop because the ropes ripped her bandages and made her hands and feet gush blood. He was concerned for her, but he knew better than to try to get her to talk and waited for her to come to him instead. Even when she wasn’t at the circus, she practiced. She hung rods in her building’s basement, with approval from her landlord, and practiced and practiced until her entire body was damp with sweat and she literally couldn’t do it anymore.

 

The best part about all of it was that she didn’t dream at night. She was so dead tired that by the time she dragged herself home after the shows and scarfed down some food, she slept like the dead. Some nights she would fall asleep face down on her bed with her clothes still on, and sometimes she would sometimes fall asleep sitting at her kitchen table.

 

It was Monday of the third week when her plan blew up dramatically. Her practice was going great until that all too familiar ache set into her chest. It was so sudden and so great that it caused her to almost miss the bar she was supposed to catch. By the time practice was over, the ache was so bad she could barely breathe. As she was leaving, she made the mistake of glancing up at P.T.’s office, and upon catching a glimpse of Phillip through the window, a bolt of pain went through her. She stumbled slightly, hand over her heart, as the air was knocked out of her. Thankfully, no one saw, and as soon as she caught her breath, she headed home.

 

…

 

On Saturday night, the pain was the worst it had ever been. Anne sat in her dressing room, intent on waiting for all the performers had gone before heading upstairs to talk with P.T. about taking a night off. When at last Lettie said her goodbyes, she bounded up the stairs and rapped on the door to his office.

 

“Mr. Barnum?”

 

The door opened, and she almost fell backwards.

“Mr. Barnum went home a few minutes ago. Can I help,” he said, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

 

Phillip Carlyle looked exactly how she felt. His hair was messy, as if he had run his fingers through it, his usually spotless clothes were wrinkled, his shirt was untucked and had ink spots on the sleeves, and his tie was undone. He was deathly pale, his clothes hanged off him as though he had lost weight, there was visible pain written all over his face, his eyes were bloodshot, and the bags under his eyes were massive. Anne’s fingers itched to reach out and smooth his hair, lead him to the couch in the office, and take care of him.

 

“Ms. Wheeler?”

 

“No, no. I need to speak with him. I’ll just talk to him tomorrow.”

 

“Are you sure,” he said, his brow furrowing, “you don’t look okay?”

 

“I’m fine. Sorry to bother you Mr. Carlyle.”

 

Anne turned to flee and made it to the top of the stairs before a hand grabbed her wrist. As soon as his skin made contact with her, all the pain went away. It felt like a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. A quick glance at Phillip’s face revealed that she had a similar effect on him.

 

“Anne,” he murmured softly.

 

A shiver went down her spine at the sound of his voice saying her name. Automatically, she moved closer to him. She was taller than him, but the slightly sloping floor of the office made them the same height. They were now so close Anne could feel his breath on her face.

“You’ve avoided seeing me,” he said calmly.

 

“You’ve been doing the same thing,” she responded, her voice shaking noticeably.

 

“You’ve been pushing yourself too much in practice.”

 

“And you never leave the office.”

 

They stood there, staring at each other, memorizing every, little detail of each other’s faces. The pair fought every single instinct that was telling them to fling themselves into the other’s arms and never, ever let go. Eventually, Phillip couldn’t handle it anymore. He removed his hand from her wrist and cupped her face with them. Phillip leaned forward and gently covered her lips with his. The moment his lips made contact with hers, Phillip felt like he was flying. He had never felt so relaxes, so content in his life. Anne started to tear up the moment her lips grazed his. The kiss was so soft, so gentle, so sweet.

 

Quickly, the kiss changed from chaste and gentle to passionate and almost violent. The two of them kissed like they were never going to again. Phillip’s hands tangled themselves in her hair, and Anne gripped his shirt tightly. Their bodies molded to each other, leaving no space between them. For the two of them, it felt like a missing piece had fallen into place. After what felt like eternity, the need for oxygen overrode the need for each other. They pulled back reluctantly, and stared at each other, gasping for oxygen. As soon as their heartrate and breathing became normal, they slowly began to realize what had happened.

 

“Anne, I…”

 

“I can’t,” she said backing up slowly towards the door. “Phillip, I can’t.”

 

She kept backing up towards the door until she ran smack into it. She fumbled for the door handle, opened the door, and left the room as if she couldn’t leave fast enough. Once Anne was gone, Phillip stumbled towards his desk and sank down into the chair. He rooted around in a drawer and pulled out his silver flask. He unscrewed the cap and took a long swig until his throat burned from the alcohol. Phillip placed his head down on the desk and fell into a tormented sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the long wait! I hope you all enjoy, and please leave a review/ a note about any mistakes I need to correct.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work in this fandom, so comments are appreciated! I am toying with the idea of expanding this... would anyone be interested in reading more?


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